


Been to Sea Before

by Sena



Series: Holy Wine [2]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Birthday Sex, Drunkenness, Established Relationship, Halloween, M/M, Sibling Incest, Threesome, Waycest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 16:45:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sena/pseuds/Sena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Halloween, Frank's 21st birthday, and he's got two amazing boyfriends.  His life is awesome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Been to Sea Before

The first thing Frank hears is, "Good morning, motherfucker," in Gerard's soft voice. Then again, "Morning, fucker. Wake up. Wake up. Time to wake up."

He hears Mikey giggle, hears him whisper, "He's _sleeping_ , ass."

"It's his birthday. It's your birthday, motherfucker. Wake up."

"Let him sleep on his fucking birthday," Mikey says, but his hand is stroking over Frank's stomach and then down to his cock, which he knows always wakes Frank up.

Frank grins and opens his eyes. Gerard's leaning over him, and when he sees that Frank's awake, he smiles wide. Gerard's smile still makes Frank's chest tight, even five years on. He smiles back.

Gerard says, "Oh, hey, you're up."

"Fucker," says Frank, then, "Oh, shit," because Mikey's mouth is on his cock.

"Birthday blowjobs," says Gerard, kissing him.

Frank says, "You taste like tequila."

"Birthday blowjobs and shots," Gerard says. "It's almost noon, so we started without you. Here, sit up."

Frank props himself up onto his elbows and lets Gerard tip a shot of tequila into his mouth. It tingles sour on the edges of his tongue, and he shivers and falls back against the pillow, moaning softly as Mikey laps at his balls.

Frank gets birthday blowjobs and birthday fucked and birthday drunk in bed. When they finally stumble out of bed, he gets birthday fingered in the shower courtesy of Mikey and birthday rimmed bent over the kitchen table courtesy of Gerard.

Then they go back to bed and laze the afternoon away, tangled together and napping and kissing and getting frosting everywhere when Mikey decides they need to eat Frank's birthday cupcakes off Frank's body.

"Having a good birthday so far?" Mikey asks.

Frank giggles as Gerard licks the remnants of lemon icing off his ribs. They both like chocolate best, but Frank likes lemon so that's what they always get. He runs his sticky fingers through Mikey's hair and says, "Best birthday ever."

Mikey smiles down at him warmly and he's the most beautiful thing Frank's ever seen. He's struck by how lucky he is on days like this, not just on his birthday, but on every day they make an effort to spoil him. They spoil him a lot. They spend hours kissing him and telling him how much they love him and talking to each other about all the reasons he's amazing and they do it right there in front of him so he can hear and he's always left breathless and humbled and so thankful that he has the dumb luck to be loved by not just one, but two amazing men.

"So fucking lucky to have you," he whispers. Mikey's eyes go soft and he blushes and kisses Frank gently, and Frank knows that's Mikey's way of saying he feels lucky, too.

Eventually, they have to get out of bed. Frank sits on the edge of the bed and shares a cigarette with Gerard as Mikey pulls out the latex prostheses Gerard had made for them earlier in the week. "Sick," Mikey says with a smile, holding up what looks like a rotting flap of skin.

"So awesome," Frank says, leaning to kiss the tattoo behind Gerard's ear, the only one he's ever gotten and likely the only one he ever will. He'd been drunk as hell when he'd gotten it, and even then he'd held Frank's hand so hard it had ached the next day. It just says, _dark,_ in scratched up block letters. The one behind Mikey's left ear says, _remarking_. Frank's says, _fey_. Apart, they don't really make much sense. Together, they're an anagram for Mikey, Frank, Gerard.

Frank was willing to get something more obvious. He would have gotten their names tattooed on his face if they'd wanted. But something more obvious would have been hard to hide from their mother, and she doesn't need to know that her sons are sleeping together.

Frank's pretty sure she suspects. He's pretty sure she knows he's sleeping with both of them and, really, questions about how, exactly, two brothers sharing a boyfriend works can't be far behind. She doesn't need it confirmed, though, and none of them want to cause her that pain.

Gerard rolls out of bed naked and says, "Okay, who's first?"

Frank says, "Mikey," and flops back down to doze while Gerard does his and Mikey's makeup before finally dragging Frank up out of bed and into the bathroom.

It comes in totally fucking handy to have a boyfriend who does movie makeup for a living, especially on Halloween. Frank's the most awesome escaped mental patient zombie he's ever seen. Like, he knows it's just paint and latex and coffee grounds and uncooked rice, he knows that, but it's so fucking disgusting when he looks at the results in the mirror. He grins at Gerard and lunges, snapping his teeth. Gerard laughs and finishes up the blood smeared around Mikey's mouth.

They wear their hospital gowns over jeans and boots and sweaters because it's fucking cold, but there's enough fake blood and gore covering them that it doesn't really ruin the effect.

"The three of you make me want to vomit," Bob says as they step into the bar.

Gerard says, "Thanks!" brightly.

Frank bounces on his toes and says, "Card me."

Bob rolls his eyes. "I never card you, you little bastard."

"It's my fucking birthday, Bob. Card me!"

Bob rolls his eyes and holds his hand out, makes a show of checking Frank's ID with his flashlight and looking from it to Frank and back again. "Huh. Guess you're finally old enough to taste your first sip of alcohol. Punk."

Frank grins and tongues at his lip ring as he shoves his ID back into his wallet. The bar's packed and it stinks like smoke and ripe bodies with sour overtones of urine and industrial cleanser. It's Frank's favorite place in the entire world. They get drinks and more drinks and the night starts to fragment into pieces. Frank remembers jumping around in the pit, bodies swirling together, laughing every time he collides with Mikey or Gerard. He remembers stumbling towards the bathrooms, seeing the line and deciding to just go outside and piss in the alley instead. He remembers leaning back in Gerard's arms as this fucking gorgeous seven foot punk rock drag queen feeds him jello shots from her fingers. He remembers being on his hands and knees in an alley, trying not to puke but the garbage smell is suddenly so strong and he can't stop it and he's going to fucking _die_.

And then there's buzzing. So much fucking buzzing and it won't stop.

"Go 'way," Mikey moans, batting at Frank's face, like he's the one making the noise.

Frank says, "Ow," and rolls away, sits up and says, "Ow," again because his head is not at all fond of the sudden change from horizontal to vertical. Frank thinks maybe they're on fire, maybe their apartment is on fire and that's what the buzzing is. He climbs over Mikey and slips to the floor, actually crawls from their bedroom into the hallway because he's pretty sure he won't be able to stand without falling over.

He crawls into the main room and pauses halfway to the front door to breathe, then crawls further and pushes himself up against the wall to reach the intercom button. "What."

"Frank. Is this Frank?"

"Oh, fuck," Frank sighs.

"It's nice to hear your voice, too," his mother says. Frank can't tell if her voice is really as cold as it sounds or if it's just the way he wants to curl up and die that makes it sound so bad. "Buzz me in."

"I can't fucking deal with this right now, Mom," he says.

"I risked life and limb to come to this neighborhood to see you, my only child," she says. "There is a crack deal going down across the street as we speak. Buzz me in."

Frank's pretty sure the guys across the street mostly deal in meth, but he doesn't press the point. He buzzes her in and slumps against the front door. He's so tired that he's almost back to sleep by the time she gets there, and her knock startles him enough to make him jump. He reaches up and unlocks the first deadbolt, then groans as he has to stand up to unlock the rest. He opens the door for her and sways on his feet.

She says, "Oh, my God! Frankie!" in a tone way too intense for whatever time it is. Noon. Four in the afternoon. Something like that, probably. She grabs at his face and is making these panicked little gasps and then she stops. She stops and her face goes cold and Frank feels the tickling pull of liquid latex coming away from his cheek.

"Is this a joke?" she demands, holding up a piece of the zombie gore he'd been wearing. "Is this supposed to be funny? You open the door looking like this to terrify your own mother?"

Frank sighs and says, "Oh. Sorry. Forgot about it," and shuffles towards their couch. It feels so good to be horizontal again that he actually groans in pleasure. "Halloween yesterday," he says.

"I'm perfectly aware of what day it was yesterday," she says. "You didn't answer my calls."

"Really busy," Frank says. One of Mikey's hoodies is bunched up next to his face, and he pulls it over his head to block out the light.

"You never answer my calls."

Frank says, "Can we not do this right now? I'm tired."

"You're hungover," she says accusingly.

Frank sighs and tugs the hoodie off his face, sits up and thinks about the way the world's spinning just a little bit. "Pretty sure I'm still drunk."

"You look like hell," she tells him.

Frank nods and keeps his eyes closed. Light is his greatest enemy. "Yup."

"This apartment is revolting."

He says, "Mmm." It's actually pretty spotless, but it's still a shithole no matter how often he cleans it.

"And this is how you greet your mother, covered in disgusting movie monster gore, in your _underwear_ \--"

Frank looks down and is actually pretty glad he hadn't accidentally opened the door naked.

"Drug paraphernalia strewn around--"

"That is a water pipe for tobacco," Frank tells her.

"And I don't even want to know how you got those bruises. Fighting, I'm sure, like a common criminal."

"Most of my bruises come from kinky sex these days."

She huffs and stalks away from him, though the effect is ruined because of how small their apartment is. She can only stalk a couple of steps before she has to turn around again. "Come home with me," she says. "You can come home. We can get you into rehab. Get you better."

Frank rubs at his forehead. "Rehab for weed or rehab for being a faggot?"

"You're drunk right now," she says, and her voice is shaking the way it does when she's about to cry. "You're drunk this early in the day and that's obviously a sign that you have an addiction to alcohol."

"It's the day after Halloween," Frank tells her. "A Halloween that also coincided with my twenty-first birthday. Of course I'm drunk!" He winces. Light and shouting are his two greatest enemies. And being upright. Light and shouting and being upright are his three greatest enemies. He starts to giggle as he imagines the Spanish Inquisition barging through his front door.

"Come home, Frank," she says.

"I am home," Frank tells her. She looks so sad that he almost wants to take it back. Almost.

Once she's gone and he's promised that he'll answer the phone the next time she calls, he stumbles back to the bedroom and tugs at the covers.

Mikey says, "No," without opening his eyes or even really waking up, but Frank manages to pry the covers from his fingers and crawl over him into the warm center of the bed. He snuggles down and wraps one arm around Mikey's waist and Gerard shifts and spoons up behind him.

Frank whispers, "Light is my greatest enemy. And shouting. Light and shouting are my two greatest enemies. And being upright. Light and shouting and being upright are my three greatest enemies."

Gerard chuckles against the back of his neck and murmurs sleepily, "No one expects the Spanish Inquisition."


End file.
